


Rear Window

by ozonecologne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Aromantic Dean, Exhibitionism, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 14:09:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4749269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozonecologne/pseuds/ozonecologne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s just moved into his first apartment on campus. Castiel is the guy living in the building behind him – says so on the mailbox outside. His window is not only always open, but also a constant distraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rear Window

**Author's Note:**

> So I've never written aro!Dean before but I'm really intrigued by the idea. And... this happened. Shameless porn basically - I am so, so sorry.

Dean’s just moved into his first apartment on campus. Castiel is the guy living in the building behind him – says so on the mailbox outside. His window is not only always open, but also a constant distraction.

For right now, all Dean knows is that the scruffy, bed-headed young adult with the weird name living across from him likes jazz music and doesn’t sleep very well. He actually might not sleep at all – Dean has seen him leaning against a wall one too many times when he gets his midnight snack.

Dean’s kitchen window looks into Castiel’s kitchen window, only the window is a few floors below Dean so sometimes he can only see a torso and some hip or broad shoulders and a jawline. Sometimes he just sees the guy’s feet, two different brightly colored socks sliding down bony ankles.

Their eyes meet for the first time by accident. Dean had just gotten home from class and had to hike up all four flights of stairs to his apartment in unbearable humidity, and he was panting _hard_. He threw his bag down in one of the kitchen chairs and wrenched open the fridge, grappling blindly for the iced tea he kept in there. He shuffled over to grab a cup, located conveniently in the cabinet closest to the kitchen window. A car horn blared down at street level, and Dean peered over the lip of his sill to take a look.

When he raised his head from the traffic, he saw Castiel across the way lifting his head too, staring straight at him.

Dean quirked up a tiny smile he wasn’t sure Castiel could even see, and ended up guzzling the iced tea straight from the bottle.

From there, it only gets easier. They must have similar schedules or something, because they are constantly ‘running into’ each other. Dean will catch his eye when he’s on the phone with his mom, pacing around the tiny kitchen. Castiel will be there watering a plant on the windowsill. He’ll nod companionably before moving into the other room, but not before Dean has already raised his hand in a friendly wave. Dean will sit down at the kitchen table to eat ramen alone, since Benny’s at his girlfriend’s, only to look up and see that Castiel is sitting at his table too, nudging peas across his plate and frowning down at a textbook. Like magic, he’ll raise his eyes and wave his fork in companionship.

One afternoon, Dean comes home late from his professor’s office hours to find Castiel hunched over his fridge in nothing but a white cotton shirt and a pair of dark spandex shorts. Fine, dark hair covers a pair of thick, meaty runner’s thighs and all the spit in Dean’s mouth dries up at once. Castiel’s hair is a wreck too, probably from the heat, and boy does that give Dean some ideas. He doesn’t notice Dean staring.

Dean gets him back for it when he walks from the bathroom – towel secured tightly around his waist – to the kitchen to grab the extra soap they keep under the sink. He straightens up, readjusts the towel, and –

Castiel is at his window, gazing unblinkingly up at Dean.

Dean smirks, winks, and pads back into the bathroom.

It becomes an unspoken competition of sorts after that, and the norm to see Castiel in various states of undress at the oddest times of day. When reaching for a dish on a high up shelf, Dean will arch his back more obviously, wiggle his ass in the air a little when he reaches down into the drawer by his feet. Castiel undeniably notices. Dean thinks he can make out the hint of a smile, but he’s too far away to really tell. In return, Dean gets peeks at sharp hip bones and what Dean thinks _may_ be a tattoo on his side, tiny runner shorts that ride up obscenely when he bends down to tie his sneakers.

The game, of course, escalates.

Dean’s gotten comfortable walking around his apartment in just his underwear by now. It’s mid semester and he and Benny have worked out their routines enough that Dean knows when he’ll be alone. He never shuts the blinds for fear he might miss Castiel doing something indecent. Which, yeah, ok, is maybe a little voyeuristic, but so far he’s gotten nothing but blatant encouragement so he assumes it’s ok. Castiel’s playing him by offering himself up on a silver platter, and Dean fucking knows it.

“You know, it’d be real easy to just talk to him,” Benny brings up one day, as Dean is staring still as a stone out the window. “Ask him on a date maybe.”

Without taking his eyes off the window, Dean shakes his head and eats a handful of Honeynut Cheerios straight from the box. “This is more fun,” is all he says.

He gets up for breakfast on a Monday morning, and nearly ends up falling out his own window.

Castiel is leaning up against his counter with his usual morning coffee (Dunkin Donuts brand, Dean can recognize the bag design from here) and he is _buck ass naked_.

There’s no mistaking the curve of a morning erection nestled in a patch of dark hair, the positively debauched state he’s left his hair in, the tired half circles under his bleary eyes. He hasn’t noticed Dean yet, so Dean gawks and makes a tiny squeaking noise and rams his knee into the kitchen table so hard it brings a tear to his eye.

Castiel finishes his coffee without so much as a glance in Dean’s direction, and then he scratches his toned stomach and walks out of the kitchen easy as you please.

Dean whines a little and hastily beats off in the shower before his first class.

Castiel, the little shit, does it again. Lounging around naked with his stupid jazz music playing. He catches Dean staring once (more than likely open-mouthed), inclines his head in a polite hello, then goes right back to making his meal like nothing is out of the ordinary. Dean almost loses a hand in the garbage disposal.

Dean eyes the other windows – blinds drawn or obscured by air conditioning units – warily, worried that the super is going to catch Cas stripped down one of these days and cite him for indecency. It gives him an adrenaline rush every time, combined with the fact that he seems completely intent on ignoring Dean for however long this lasts. He likes the chase. Seems neither of them is interested in taking it outside the apartment, but Dean’s never been a patient man.

He’s standing in front of the window one night – not waiting, just… ok yeah he’s waiting – and Castiel passes in front of the window, disappointingly in a pair of checkered boxers. He waves at Dean, also stripped down to his underwear, and produces a peach from the fruit bowl on his table. He rinses it, takes a bite, and approaches the window. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged Dean’s presence in weeks.

He’s thrown the gauntlet, and Dean decides to be a little daring.

The courtyard that separates their buildings has a tendency to amplify sound when the windows are open. That’s why Dean can hear Cas’s stupid jazz music all hours of the day. So Dean knocks his window open a little wider and presses play on his laptop.

Once the first notes of Pour Some Sugar On Me have faded into the chorus, Dean rests his hands on his hips. Wraps his fingers tight around his skin, digging in a little and relaxing, gently massaging. He slides one finger into the waistband of his boxers.

 _Your move_ , he thinks.

Cas raises his chin a fraction of an inch, and Dean can actually make out his expression with the sun the way it is in that moment. He’s curious, a little hungry looking. Peach juice clings to the corner of his mouth. He nods, almost imperceptibly, and Dean cranks the music a little louder.

He hooks his thumbs below the waistband, expertly framing the aching arousal between his legs. He slowly gyrates his hips once, twice, and parts his lips.

He’s not usually one for exhibitionism, but the thrill of performing like this for someone who’s been toying with him all semester – that’s a good feeling.

It gets even better when Cas takes a step back from the window so that from his collarbone to his knees is completely visible, and throws the peach in the garbage can with a little too much force. He wipes his hands and without any warning, inelegantly shoves his boxers down to the cheap linoleum floor. If Dean weren’t hard already, he would be from that view alone. Even though Cas has a mid-thigh tan line from his stupid spandex shorts.

Dean copies him, shoving his own underwear out of the way, and circles his cock in a loose fist. He leisurely strokes himself to the beat of the song, failing to keep from making needy little noises under his breath. He can only see the bottom half of Cas’s face with the window as small as it is, but he can just barely make out the flash of teeth as he grins and the finger he trails up the length of himself.

The only sound echoing through the courtyard that afternoon is Joe Elliott’s wanton crooning, but Dean likes to pretend that he can hear the moans Cas just can’t keep to himself as he watches Dean get off in front of his window. (Is that fucked up?) Dean shoves up into his hand a little bit faster, a little harder, and tips his head back to bare his neck. He imagines rough lips pressed to his pulse point, the smell of clean sweat and peaches.

Jesus, and he has never come so hard in his life. He sucks it off his fingers in full view of the window and grabs a dishtowel to get rid of the rest. He shuts off the music and mentally promises a good night to his sexy neighbor.

It accidentally happens again. One minute Dean’s making waffles and the next minute he hears Warrant’s Cherry Pie being blasted across the courtyard. It sets him right off, and he stumbles over his feet in his rush to the window, already unbuttoning his jeans and shoving a twitchy hand down the front of them. Cas is already stroking himself lazily and sucking on two of his fingers, and Dean has to move a little quicker to get caught up. He burns his waffles.

Cas looks beautiful when he comes, streaks of white catching on his stomach or his wrist and chest heaving, eyes blown so wide Dean just might be able to figure out the color of them. Dean gets addicted very quickly. Sometimes they use music, sometimes they don’t. Dean likes when they don’t, because a faint echo of Castiel’s breathy groans float oh so nicely up to his floor that way. He secretly thinks Cas likes those nights better too, because he always leaves the kitchen with a pleased little smile on his face, something tender and blissful and pure.

Cas’s refractory time is incredible, and Dean’s got some impressive stamina himself. They do this several times a week on the regular. Midterms are hell, because Dean can’t coerce Cas away from his textbook long enough to get a good session in. He begrudgingly takes care of business solo in front of the window, hoping to entice Cas to join him. He never does and Dean’s stuck with an unsatisfying orgasm, matching Cas’s frown with one of his own.

The longer he lets this thing go on, the more Dean becomes aware that he cares. The jazz music and the not-so-private strip teases, the eating dinner together and the plant watering, the late night fist-fucking. He paces the kitchen and glances over at the slightest sign of movement. When a nightmare wakes him up in the middle of the night, he always finds himself at the window, leaning on his forearms and craving a certain someone’s company to take his mind off things. When he watches Cas thrust shallowly into his own hand, Dean absurdly begins to _resent_ the window for cutting off the full picture – he wants to watch his toes curl as he comes at the same time he watches his full mouth drop open, the full extent of his pleasure, is that too much to ask?

Granted, he hardly knows the guy. Dean’s just always been a sucker for a pretty face and for the slightest bit of attention thrown his way – whatever delusions of romanticism Benny thinks he’s suffering from are literally impossible.

“This is not a god damn Taylor Swift video, Benny,” Dean grumbles as he stirs his pot of tomato sauce.

His roommate doesn’t look convinced. “You don’t think you’re even just a little smitten, brother?”

Dean scoffs. “Not really,” he answers. _Can’t be,_ he thinks. _Can’t love someone you don’t even know._

Just from what he sees through the window, Dean knows that Cas (as he’s taken to calling him) is a hard worker, he loves plants – both eating and taking care of – and music without words, goes running regularly, can’t function without Dunkin coffee in the morning, doesn’t sleep well, and has sensitive nipples. All of those things endear Dean to him one way or another. He doesn’t need to stand under his balcony reciting prose up at him to show that he likes him. He doesn’t have to want to _date_ him to make their time valuable. He’s too busy for that, they both are. Dean doesn’t do relationships, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. This is a system that works.

Why can’t that be enough?

Winter break rolls around, and while Dean is happy that he gets a full month to himself, he is a little bummed that it means he won’t get to see Cas for a while. He’ll miss him.

When Dean’s suitcase has been packed and dragged into the front hall, he peeks out the window for one last look. For the first time since Dean’s moved in, the blinds are drawn. There’s a piece of paper stuck to the window.

 _No pressure,_ it reads. And there’s a phone number written underneath. 

Dean grins wide and hoists his coat higher up his shoulders.

He’s always wondered what sexting’s like.

**Author's Note:**

> You can come say hi on my [tumblr](http://www.ozonecologne.tumblr.com) if you feel like it :)


End file.
